The Professional Touch
by Lopithecus
Summary: Bruce is sick with a mild fever and Clark has to take care of him.


**The Professional Touch**

When Clark lands in the Bat-cave, Batman is standing at the computer and studying some case that he is currently working on. There's a picture of Two Face up on one screen while there are case studies on the other two. "Two Face at it again?"

Batman coughs and clears his throat, not turning around to face him. "Three robberies and one robbery went wrong with an explosion going off; two dead, five more critically injured."

Knowing how any death or injury that Batman was unsuccessful in preventing can really bring the man behind the cowl down and the man shown with the cowl to become even more violent, Clark asks, "You okay?" Batman sniffles and Clark wonders if the big bad Bat is crying, which would be shocking since Clark has only seen Bruce cry and even that is rare. "It wasn't your fault Bruce."

"I still should have been able to do something," Batman says forlorn.

"Bruce-" But Clark is cut off with a fitful cough from Batman and another sniffle. That's when Clark notices the bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup Alfred left on the desk, untouched, and the wads of used tissues next to it. There's also a half empty cup of steaming tea and a full glass of orange juice. Batman grabs another tissue from the box that is sat on the other side of the keyboard and blows his nose. "Wait… Bruce, do you have a cold?"

Dropping the tissue he just used in the pile of other ones, Batman sighs and then pulls his cowl off, putting Batman aside for now. "It would seem I have come down with something."

Alarmingly, Clark steps up to him. "How long have you had it? Have you been going on patrol with it? Have you been resting? What about eating and drinking? Have you thrown up?"

Bruce turns to look at him and rolls his eyes. They're bloodshot and his skin is even paler than usual. "About three days, yes, as much as I can, not really, and once."

Clark drags Bruce away from the computer by the wrist and makes him sit on a cot. "Okay, that's not that long, you shouldn't be going on patrol and you know that, that means you haven't been resting at all, you need to eat and keep hydrated, and do you feel queasy right now?" Bruce raises his eyebrows at Clark's similar way of answering _his_ answers to Clark's questions. He then shakes his head no in answer to Clark's other question. "Good." Clark walks over to the soup and orange juice and then hands them to Bruce.

Bruce looks at the soup with disdain. "Alfred knows I don't like Chicken Noodle but he insists I eat it when I have a cold."

Clark chuckles and places his hand on Bruce's sweaty forehead. He frowns a little. "Did Alfred take your temperature? You're kind of hot."

Bruce smirks. "Thanks, so are you."

Clark rolls his eyes. "That's the oldest thing in the book."

Bruce tries chuckling but it only turns into a fit of coughs. When they stop, he answers Clark's initial question. "A couple of hours ago and I only had a mild fever of one hundred and one degrees Fahrenheit." He swats Clark's hand away and places the bowl beside him on the cot, getting up. "And it's nothing, I'm fine. I need to get back to work now."

He tries to walk past Clark but Clark grabs his shoulder and pushes him back down. "Nope, I don't think so. I know people have died but, Bruce, even you should know you're not going to be able to protect anyone like this."

A sneeze and what Clark can only describe as a pathetic, miserable look, Bruce says, "I can try."

Clark sighs. "Bruce-"

"Don't baby me Clark," Bruce snaps.

Anger flares in Clark but he stamps it down. "Look at yourself, you look pathetic. Your skin is pale, your eyes are red, your nose is red and irritated, and I can see with my x-ray vision that you must have a sore throat because it's all inflamed."

"Don't x-ray me," Bruce mumbles but Clark ignores it.

"Now, you can't get away from me without Kryptonite which I don't think you would do that to me." For good measure, Clark gives him his puppy dog eyes. "Now eat and drink and then I'll get you to bed."

Grumbling and frowning, Bruce lifts the bowl again and starts to eat with a disgusted look. When he's done with the soup, he picks up the orange juice and drinks it with one gulp. "Happy?"

Clark shakes his head. "Not really. I think you just made yourself even sicker with gulping down that juice. You look even worse, Bruce."

Frowning even more, Bruce says, "Well, I feel worse too."

Clark smiles with sympathy and kisses Bruce's damp forehead. "Let's get you to bed."

Clark helps him up and they start making their way up to the manor and then to Bruce's bedroom. "I think I need to throw up again."

Clark steers the man in the direction of the bathroom that is in the room. They barely make it to the toilet before Bruce falls to his knees and promptly empties the food he just ate into the bowl. Clark rubs Bruce's back when he whines, laying his cheek onto the cool seat. "There, there, it's okay." He throws up one more time before they start heading to the bed again. Clark pulls the blanket up close to Bruce's chin and tucks him in after getting him undressed. He then goes to the other side of the bed, strips, and crawls under the covers himself.

Bruce immediately shimmies over to him and presses close, coughing and sniffling. Bruce buries his face into Clark's neck. "You're lucky you don't get sick… bastard."

Clark chuckles and kisses the top of Bruce's head, wrapping his arms around the man's body. "Get some rest, sleep." With one last grumble, Bruce does what he is told.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading. :)**


End file.
